Selective
by Crimson Cupcake
Summary: From his childhood, raised in a castle full of grand decor to his life within the Varia, Belphegor's memory was always selective. From that moment, bloodstained beyond recognition to the Battle of Storm, he never surpassed his brother. Happy 22/12!


**Full Summary:**

From his childhood, raised in a castle full of grand decor to his life as an assassin for the Varia, Belphegor's memory was always selective in its choices. From that moment of birth, bloodstained beyond recognition to the delicate intricacies of the Battle of Storm, he never recalled the existence of his elder brother. Happy 22/12!

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**A/N: **Haha! I finally got inspiration to write a birthday fic for Bel! Anyway, 22nd December is Bel's birthday, so Happy Birthday to him! This can be considered a fanfic trade with The Reminiscent Sky ^^I suppose I should've wrote one for Rasiel too, but he's not in the Varia and not as awesome. And he's got a _gaping_ hole in his past so...

Also, I'm writing in a new style, _and_ in present tense. Thanks to my wonderfully picky awesome beta Sazerac, this is hopefully much more readable and less tense-confusing, but I still think I haven't got some tenses right. So please please _please_ tell me if I've got anything wrong, because this style must be absolutely _perfect_ if it makes sense. And please don't blame me if this isn't cannonly accurate, I tried to make it as good as possible.

_Sazerac is credited for creating the _awesome_ summary and for betaing this fic! I'd say cheer for her, but it's Bel's birthday, so cheer for Bel! xD_

_Warnings: Character_ _death. And a lot of it. This is _Bel_ we're talking about! I don't know if it counts as character death, because no names were mentioned and most aren't really characters. Also, this is **dark**. I have no idea how it turned dark, and if it isn't, tell me. But I think it's kinda dark. So...xD_

_Disclaimer: Sadly, **I do not own Reborn. **If I owned Reborn...well...you don't want to know. If you do, message me xDD I also do not own this writing style. And I'm not sure if I even own this fic, because if it's a present to Bel, then it's _his_, right? Gahh I don't get this anymore_.

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Belphegor, Prince the Ripper, has a very selective memory.

-xox-

He remembers the day he was born, remembers the first ray of light that shines through to his world. He remembers because he is a Prince and he is a genius.

He does not remember his brother lying there, in the crib next to him. Nor does he remember that his brother was born five minutes earlier.

-xox-

He remembers the first day he held a knife. Its smooth and well-rounded touch, its deadly sharp blade, its metallic glistening appearance.

He remembers when he first throws that knife; how it soars through the air effortlessly and how it sinks its fangs neatly into the target.

He remembers the rich crimson blood streaming out of the wound, and the man's dying breath, and the light leaving his eyes. He remembers his heart racing and his eyes alight with excitement, and his ecstasy and his larger-than-life grin.

He does not remember the punishing words that followed.

-xox-

He remembers knives hitting their target with a dull thud. He remembers their glint as they rush through the sunlight. He remembers his grin widening as each knife hit its mark, and the slight flicker as the trailing wires catch the light.

He does not remember that his brother had mastered this technique three months ago.

-xox-

He remembers his butler kneeling at his feet, one hand holding serviettes; the other offering a tray of cookies. He remembers himself sitting on a magnificent throne, silver tiara perched proudly on his head. He remembers his own royal robe, dazzled with rich jewels.

He does not remember, and at that time did not realize until later that the cookies were poisoned, and that his butler leaves to report to _another prince_ immediately afterwards.

-xox-

He remembers his brother's limp body lying on the grass, blood pouring from multiple knife and wire wounds. He remembers the other's tiara scatted chaotically in the grass a few metres away. He remembers his vision fading from blood loss, and yet still manages to stand victorious. He remembers his insane laughter echoing around the walls and remembers the guards, fruitlessly, trying to restrain him. He remembers the royal blood flowing, remembers the metallic taste in his mouth, remembers the warmth and beauty of such noble blood.

He does not remember swaying as he walked, giggling madly, past the guards, who all dropped dead at the exact same moment.

And yet he remembers cleaning out the castle of all other useless pathetic commoners. They were not of royal lineage. They did not deserve to live. He remembers cackling as the door creaks open and his parents stood there, white with shock or horror or disbelief, but he does not care and kills them all, raining knives into their helpless body until there is no more royal blood left.

And Belphegor laughs and giggles and cackles until his vision is blacking out, but he's not going to faint until he's reached his destination. This was, he remembered, only the start.

Then he waltzes out of the room and out the castle doors, swaying with every step, and unable to stop giggling. And he grins and does not care if he looks mad because he is a _prince_ and princes do not care what peasants think. And then suddenly the street is thick with bodies and he is stepping on them and the sound of bones crunching is music to his ears.

And then soon every channel on television is reporting about a child mass-murderer on the loose and all the filthy peasants are hiding and scared and Belphegor does not care. He does not enter their houses and kill them, no, because they are peasants and are nothing compared to royalty and he has a much better job to do.

Instead he wanders around to the countryside and rendezvous with a person with long silver hair and dressed in impressive black leather, and Belphegor merely grins before passing out.

-xox-

He's been in the Varia for a while now. And perhaps Belphegor sometimes misses being treated like a pampered royal puppy, but being in an assassination squad has its advantages. He now knows that the long-haired guy he had met was a total _bastard_ who likes screaming in people's ears, and that one of the members is a greedy baby, but Bel is pleased here and nothing else matters.

Because the Varia were internationally known and feared and respected and they are all treated like royalty except that stupid junk of a robot lying in the corner and he is allowed to kill whoever he wants, whenever he wants.

And even if there are daily screams of _"VOOOIIIII! You messed up my hair!" _and _"Boss, praise me," _they are more or less a twisted, dysfunctional family who didn't act like royalty but are damn treated that way.

-xox-

All in all, he thinks that the coup d'etat went pretty well, if you didn't count Squalo's screw-up and the Boss being frozen in a slab of unmeltable ice.

And then suddenly the Varia base is empty and the members are subdued, and Mammon had even stopped counting his money out loud as if the silence is just not meant to be broken. The most obviously pained is Squalo, who shuts himself in his room and never comes out except meals and Bel didn't know what he was _doing_ in there but it didn't matter – if Squalo managed to kill himself from loneliness, it would be better for everyone.

And yet they stay, waiting for something that surely would never happen. His knives are always sharpened but they are never used because Bel was waiting, waiting for the right moment to strike and to regain their glory.

Then one day after a millennium the front doors slam open and there was their Boss, swaggering mightily and his eyes glinting with malicious fury. And of course Squalo was first, flying down the stairs with his hair spread out behind him and then it was Levi hugging and kissing his feet, and the rest of the members come down slower, but each express their happiness in different ways.

-xox-

The only part he remembers about the Storm Ring Battle was constantly firing the enemy and watching his expression change from satisfaction to surprise and to anger and fear. And the next thing he knows someone had cut a vein and everything was spinning and then he was out and lying on his bed the next morning.

And then it was Squalo getting 'eaten' and Mammon losing without putting up a fight, and then in a whirl he was back on the battlefield doing what he loves most, and he didn't even remember the poison. Then, somehow, Squalo is back and the Boss was lying there and everything went wrong. And the rest of the worthless stupid Vongola brats had them cornered and he had no choice but to give up in defeat.

A _prince_ being defeated like that is _not_ royal_._

He swears that he would pay that bomb bastard back one day, but then the whole thing was forgotten the next, save for everyone else's injuries and the fact that Squalo now has to be _pushed_ around in a wheelchair because he couldn't move his arms. Not that there is anything wrong with that – it was amusing watching the swordsman scream for half an hour until Levi gets sick of his whining and pushes him over to the television.

And Lussuria lies in his room and moans all day and nobody goes in there because they can't stand his annoying voice; the Boss is cooped up in his office slouched on his throne; nobody dares to enter unless they want a death wish.

-xox-

And Belphegor grins and remembers his birthday, when all the members were gathered around the table _singing_. Sure, he had to bribe Mammon and threaten Squalo and avoid three bullets to his head to get the Boss down, but it was worth it just seeing them there. They are just _there_, paying their respects to the wonderful grinning _prince_ with a twisted childhood.

But the Varia are all twisted and insane in their own way, and perhaps that is what brought them together. But nobody would show it except Lussuria, because they all had their reputations and outsiders will not understand.

And then each person takes out a small gift, except to Bel it isn't small at all. And he giggles and accepts them all no matter how insignificant, and he still grins when the boss says he has nothing, because he knows that it's the thought that counts.

The Varia may be assassins. They may be cold blooded and twisted and dysfunctional.

But they were family, and no outsiders will ever fit in.


End file.
